


residual

by kiyala



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Grinding, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pillow lives at the corner of Akaashi's bed, against the wall, and Bokuto always leans against it when he comes over to visit Akaashi, making himself at home on the bed.</p>
<p>Bokuto was here yesterday. The pillow smells like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	residual

For the most part, Akaashi tries not to masturbate often. It has nothing to do with finding it _dirty_ , because he doesn't—he enjoys it just as much as anyone else. It helps him wind down when things get a little too stressful, helps quieten the thoughts in his head when they get a little too loud.

It's just that, well—

He thinks about Bokuto. Every time. It's wonderful, when he's lost in the moment, his eyes screwed shut as he recalls how Bokuto looked, half naked and covered in sweat in the changing rooms. The problem is the guilt that comes afterwards, sitting heavily in his stomach, making it difficult to so much as look Bokuto in the eye for a while. 

Bokuto always notices, even if he doesn't know why, even if Akaashi will never tell him why. He sulks about it, which makes Akaashi feel even guiltier and—it just complicates matters. So Akaashi avoids it as much as he can.

It's difficult, though, when he's on the same team as Bokuto, when he sees him every day, eyes catching on Bokuto's muscles, his thick forearms, the thin sliver of skin between the top of his knee pads and the hem of his shorts.

Akaashi is trying to do his homework, sitting crosslegged on his bed, but he can't stop thinking about Bokuto, about how warm his touch was against Akaashi's stomach, when he reached out just as Akaashi was stretching. He thinks about the way Bokuto's eyes had widened and his cheeks turned pink as he snatched his hand away. He smiles to himself at the memory of Bokuto's ears turning pink too and maybe this crush would be so much easier to deal with if Bokuto was just a hot jock, but he's so much more than that, he's so _cute_ on top of everything else, and Akaashi pushes his homework away with a sigh, knowing that he's not going to make any progress on it any time soon.

He closes his books and places them on top of his bag. He walks to the door, making sure that it's locked before taking his shirt off and grabbing a towel, spreading it out on his bed.

Akaashi gets on his knees, pulling his shorts down, fingers wrapping around his hardening cock. He sighs softly as he strokes, his head falling back, letting himself indulge in the fantasy of Bokuto stroking him like this instead, recalling the memory of his warm hand again. It's embarrassing just how quickly that thought has him completely hard. He lies on his back, head resting against his pillow, stroking himself even harder. He uses his other hand to cup his balls, rolling them in his hand, then moving his fingers a little lower, to press against his perineum. He gasps, turning his head to the side, breathing in sharply.

That's a mistake.

He has his face pressed against his owl pillow—comically large, in the shape of a horned owl, a present from Bokuto out of the blue one day. The pillow lives at the corner of Akaashi's bed, against the wall, and Bokuto always leans against it when he comes over to visit Akaashi, making himself at home on the bed.

Bokuto was here yesterday. The pillow smells like him.

Akaashi takes another deep breath, and nearly moans as the desire crashes over him like a wave, mouth watering at the smell, his cock leaking a bead of precome.

He presses his face against the pillow and strokes himself a little harder, but that's not enough. He needs more, he needs—

He needs Bokuto, he thinks desperately. The pillow will have to do.

He pulls it closer, turning it onto its side so he can get his legs around it. He grinds his cock against it, taking another deep breath and shutting his eyes. He can pretend he's grinding against Bokuto's thigh instead and his mind spins, his skin prickling with desire. Would Bokuto keep his knee pads on, Akaashi wonders? Maybe he would let Akaashi grind against them instead, cock dripping all over the black material of them, staining them. Maybe Bokuto would wear them afterwards, stains and all, so everyone else would know what Akaashi did.

He muffles his moan against the pillow, biting down onto it in his desperation. He has the presence of mind to grab for his towel, covering the pillow with it and grinding against that instead, so he doesn't end up getting it dirty. He doesn't know if he'd be able to live with the guilt of staining it, doesn't know how he'd explain it to Bokuto when he ends up having to throw it out, or burn it, or do _something_ to hide his shame.

With the towel there, though, he doesn't need to worry about any of that. He grinds against the pillow desperately, panting against it. He muffles his moan into the pillow as he comes, keeping his face pressed against it as he regains his breath.

The guilt is there as usual when he Akaashi away from the pillow, but he can still smell Bokuto's scent, like it's clinging to him. It's a little difficult to really care about much else.

 

* * *

 

Bokuto invites himself over to Akaashi's house the following afternoon after practice, already leading the way down familiar streets before Akaashi can even open his mouth to protest. He follows behind, his heart pounding, trying to push the guilt to the back of his mind, along with the panic.

Bokuto isn't going to know. There is no possible way for Bokuto to even be able to know about the pillow incident. He doesn't know if that makes it better or worse, because when they get to Akaashi's room, Bokuto gravitates towards the pillow, just as he always does, leaning back against it with his arms folded behind his head. It makes his shirt ride up a little and Akaashi's eyes catch on the little strip of skin, the dark line of hair disappearing into the waistband Bokuto's shorts, and has to look away, his face burning with embarrassment.

The owl pillow smells even more strongly of Bokuto after he leaves, and Akaashi doesn't even have it in him to feel guilty about it this time as he puts his towel against it, grinding with desperation all over again.


End file.
